The Chance
by SweetSinger2010
Summary: Over the last twenty years, Gilbert Blythe has developed a skill for ignoring things that might remind him of Anne Shirley, but a chance meeting on the train departing Charlottetown changes everything. He can't ignore the lively young woman sitting across from him, Anne's likeness in every way. Her name? Lillian Gardner. One-shot.


Author's Note: I hesitated to write this, because I'm not very fond of AU, but I've had this idea for quite some time. I hope you enjoy! As always, nothing is mine.

_The Chance_

For a man who was only forty-three and not too far out of his prime, Gilbert felt awfully old. Granted, it had been a long week. He'd left his home in Glen St. Mary on Saturday to speak at a small medical conference in Halifax. After its conclusion on Wednesday, he'd gone to Kingsport to visit old college friends and attend a reception for alumni at Redmond. There had been dinner parties every night, demanding much later hours than he was used to.

On the journey back home, the tired doctor was all too glad to take a seat on the aisle near the front of the train departing from Charlottetown. It was an unusually full train, as many Queen's Academy students were scattering to their homes for the weekend. Their lively chatter filled the car. Gilbert leaned his head back on the seat and listened, fondly remembering his own early school days. The later ones, particularly those after that second year at Redmond, he remembered with a sadness little eased by the passing of twenty years.

Gilbert sighed and shook his head to dispel his thoughts. The train blew a warning whistle. Just as the wheels began to make their first sluggish turns, Gil saw a young woman run past. He smiled, remembering how many times he'd come close to missing the train in his youth. The car's rear door opened, and several of the Queen's students burst out laughing.

"Better late than never, hey Lillian?" A deep-voiced young man teased. There was a melodic peal of laughter in response.

"I suppose that an old schoolmarm like me really _ought_ to know better."

At the sound of the feminine voice, Gilbert turned his head sharply, if not rudely, to look at its owner. He _knew_ that voice, that laugh. The young woman had her back to him, chatting with students who were obviously her friends. She wore a dove-gray travelling suit, beautiful and simple. She was tall and pale and slender, her figure softly curving. Beneath her trim little hat shone thick masses of dark auburn hair.

Gilbert faced forward, clutching the arm of the chair. She reminded him so much of…

He tried to swallow, but his throat was horribly dry. Above the din of the train, he could hear the girl's footfalls as she advanced to the front of the car. She appeared next to him.

"May I sit here?" She asked politely, smiling.

"Of course," Gilbert said, rising and stepping into the aisle so that she could pass. She sat by the window, across from him. He watched from the corner of his eye as she unpinned her hat from her hair and placed her brown satchel in her lap. She turned her head and looked out the window. She sighed contentedly and turned back to Gilbert for some friendly conversation.

"I always love to see the red roads flash past, don't you?"

"Yes," Gilbert answered absently.

He couldn't have repeated the question. He didn't even notice that the roads _were_ red. He did notice, however, that the young woman sitting across from him looked, freckle for freckle, like Anne Shirley. The shape of her nose, color of her eyes, the gloss and burnish of her auburn hair. Even her very voice and attitude was entirely Anne's!

She caught him staring at her and misunderstood the strange look on his face. Her hands flew up to her neat pompadour.

"Don't tell me; I've unpinned the wrong thing, haven't I?" Her voice was aggrieved. "I've done that more times than I can count, and I've only been doing my hair up a year. Mother says I'll get the hang of it, but I'm not quite sure I believe her."

"No," Gilbert laughed chokingly. The girl's chatter put him at ease, and he even dared to joke. "Your hair isn't out of place. It's good to know that you're not one of those young ladies who does her hair up when she's away at school and then takes it down before she goes home for the weekend."

"Ha! I am _not_ one of those, thankfully. But I know some who've done it."

"Are you a Queen's student, then?"

The girl shook her head. "Most of my friends are. I studied hard last year and took my teacher's license. I wanted to finish quickly; I couldn't see spending two years at the Academy. I teach English at a small all-girls school here in Charlottetown."

An English teacher? This was uncanny. Gilbert forced himself to keep conversation light. "I did the same thing as you—taking my license in a year instead of two. I taught public school over in White Sands for a couple of years afterward."

"White Sands!" She cried in excitement. "That's so close to home—why, we're practically neighbors! Where do you call home?"

"Glen St. Mary now, but I was born and raised in Avonlea."

Lillian clasped her hands in delight. "So was I! Not born there, I mean, just raised. I was born in Kingsport and…and…" The expression on Lillian's face completely altered and her voice trailed off. The look in her eyes was unreadable as her mind latched onto something powerful.

"You're—you're Gilbert Blythe, aren't you?" Her tone was a mix of extreme hesitancy and hushed awe. "I _know_ you are."

Gil's pulse accelerated. "Yes."

Lillian's eyes grew unaccountably misty. "Oh! Oh." She didn't trust herself to say anything else for a few moments. "I've always longed to meet you; I've heard so much about you in Avonlea and—and from mother."

Gilbert blinked. Was this really happening? "So you're—you must be—"

"Anne Shirley's daughter," she whispered, nodding before she corrected herself. "Anne Gardner now."

A thick silence held itself between them. Lillian didn't have to say that she knew the whole history between Anne and Gilbert; it was expressed plainly in her compassionate, hopeful eyes.

"Mother and I moved to Avonlea after father died in an accident," she said impulsively, disjointedly. "I was six."

Gilbert just stared. The information hit him hard. How had he not heard before now that Roy Gardner died over ten years ago? How had he not heard it then? "I'm so sorry," he tripped over his words. Emotion threatened to close his throat when he thought about a young, widowed, and grieving Anne raising a child alone. "I had no idea."

A ghost of a smile touched Lillian's lips and she settled her gaze out the window. "I once overheard Marilla and Mrs. Lynde talking about something your mother had said about you; that you threw yourself so hard into your work to hide from things and people in Avonlea that could remind you about mother." She dared to raise her eyes to his.

"At first, yes." He shook his head and cleared his throat. He was stunned. Overwhelmed. But strangely, he had no trouble being transparently honest with this girl, this ghost sent to torture him. He _wanted_ to talk to her. "Then it became so much a habit that I—"

"Don't hide anymore." Her voice was thick, her eyes welling with tears. She leaned forward and folded her hand around Gilbert's, pleading with him urgently. "Come with me. Get off the train in Avonlea and come to Green Gables with me. I know mother would want to see you."

Gilbert wanted to say no; saying no was the only sensible thing to do. Instead, he heard himself asking stupidly, "She would?"

Lillian nodded earnestly. "Please."

His decision defied reason and logic, but Gilbert knew that this was his last chance, the end of the line. It was something he might come to regret, but he didn't want to spend the rest of his life wondering what might have happened if he had gotten off the train.

He ignored the stares and whispers that followed him through Avonlea. Boldly, Lillian thrust her hand through his, afraid that he'd change his mind and turn back. She was confident that meeting him on the train today was more an act of God than sheer coincidence. As they drew closer and closer to home, she tried to be equally confident that begging Gilbert Blythe to come with her had been the right thing to do. When they finally stepped through the Green Gables gate, she had her answer.

Anne had been sitting on the porch for quite some time, expecting Lillian to appear any moment. Having her daughter home for the weekend was always the highlight of her entire week. Tonight, she looked up at the road so often that her concentration and her embroidery project were a complete wreck. She began pulling out her last few stitches, squinting against the bright glow of sunset. She didn't see the two figures approaching her gate.

"Mother!" Lillian called excitedly, running into the yard.

Anne's sewing tumbled out of her lap and she was already down the porch steps when she saw _him_ standing at the gate. "Gilbert," she whispered through pale lips. She stopped short, eyes wide and questioning as Lillian approached and slipped an arm around her waist.

"Come," Lillian urged gently, stepping them forward.

Gilbert stood just inside the yard, advancing slowly. His heart and mind were racing. It had been almost nineteen years since he'd last seen Anne on commencement day. Her hair was still perfectly auburn, her form was still elegant. She looked as youthful as the seventeen year old at her side, but Gilbert could detect in her face the lines of motherhood and joy, sorrow and sleepless nights. Time had made her more beautiful.

"Anne," he breathed, chest constricting.

"Won't you come in?" She asked tremulously, afraid to speak. The slender hand she held out to him trembled. The simple gesture eased Gilbert's tension and lifted his spirits in a way that she couldn't possibly have imagined.

"I'd like that," he answered softly.

She met his eyes with an inviting smile. "So would I."


End file.
